


don't kiss me under the mistletoe

by Nekositting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Creature Tom Riddle, Erotic Horror, F/M, Not a Happy Christmas Story, POV Third Person Limited, Psychological Horror, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suggestive Themes, Unresolved Tension, tomione 2020 gift exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Nekositting
Summary: Being placed on the naughty list can come with an array of consequences, and sometimes, far steeper than a sack of coal.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 65
Collections: Poisoned Kiss Under the Mistletoe Tomione Secret Santa 2020





	don't kiss me under the mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Submissive Bookmark (Myella)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myella/gifts).



> I hope you and everyone enjoy this little slice of horror in this sea of Christmas cheer! :)

Hermione pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle her breathing. 

There was someone in her house. 

There was someone in her bloody  _ house.  _

She didn’t know how they’d gotten in or what they could want, but the sound of footsteps in the downstairs living room, dragging on the wood floor, had been enough to startle her out of the dozed state she’d been in. 

If she hadn’t had insomnia, she doubted she would have noticed anything amiss and—

Hermione cut off the thought before she could finish it. She didn’t want to imagine what could have happened had the intruder climbed up her stairs and found her asleep in her bed. The outcomes were limitless, and right now, thinking about the  _ what ifs  _ while weaponless and hiding behind the cabinet right off the entrance of the living room wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

She needed a weapon. She needed to call the police. 

But she was already here. She doubted she could make that call and not be heard. The silence was deafening. If she had managed to notice her intruder from her upstairs bedroom, she was certain that whoever it was could hear her if she tried to call dispatch.

_ Okay. _

She sucked in a slow breath.

She needed to think.

She didn’t have a weapon, and the kitchen was on the other side of the living room. A knife was out of the question, so she would have to make do with whatever she’d left on her coffee table. 

Hopefully, she left something she could use. 

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione braced herself and inched her head past the corner of the cabinet to gaze into the entranceway. There were red and green lights blinking in the darkness, the Christmas tree the only sign of movement in the shadows. 

She’d never thought blinking coloured lights could be eerie, but considering the circumstances, even a bloody stuffed animal could be sinister. 

The room was silent. 

There were no sounds, no evidence that there was someone in there. It was only her low breaths and the rapid pulse of her heart hammering in her chest. 

Hermione swallowed hard, a nervous energy thrumming centimeters beneath her skin as she forced herself to move away from her hiding place. This was too exposed, too much of a gamble, but what other choice did she have?

She hadn’t  _ thought _ .

She hadn’t been thinking of much of anything as she climbed down the steps to discern just what was happening downstairs, and  _ gods _ , did she regret it. 

Her socked feet made no sound as she crept to the entranceway, but her heart was beating away like a drum in her ears. She could make out each wave of blood and surge of adrenaline as it flooded through her veins. She ignored it.

She had to focus.

There were shadows in the living room. They danced to the flickering lights of her Christmas tree. Red, green, blue, and yellow: they were a kaleidoscope. She couldn’t make anyone or anything out in spite of the illumination. 

_ What if the intruder had gone somewhere else? _

A lump formed in her throat at the thought. She hoped she was wrong, that there wasn’t someone lurking in the dark waiting to leap up behind her when she had her back turned. 

_ Fuck. _

She stepped into the living room, and it was as if a chill swept through her. The hairs on her arms and legs stood on end, rippling with gooseflesh. It was as if she had walked into a freezer. 

The room didn’t look any different in spite of its glacial temperature.

The book she had been reading earlier that evening was lying on the arm of the sofa. A small plate with two uneaten crackers and jam was resting on the coffee table across the sofa. The Christmas tree was filled to the brim with presents, not a single one out of place—or at least, that she could tell.

Even the chimney was as she’d left it. The fire was out, the gate locked up as she always did before she turned in for the night. 

There was no one there.

Hermione’s shoulders sagged with relief before tensing. 

_ No. _

It was too soon to relax. There was still the kitchen and upstairs to check, even if she hadn’t seen anyone when she’d climbed down. She had to be sure, to  _ make  _ certain. 

Hermione slid to the coffee table and grabbed the butter knife she’d left, thanking the gods that she’d decided to put it away the following morning instead of cleaning up immediately as she always did. 

It was cold to the touch, but the sensation soothed her. It was something. She could do some damage if she needed to, could—

Everything went dark. 

The red, green, and blue flickering lights blinked out of existence. 

Hermione didn’t scream. She couldn’t with the hard lump in her throat, blocking out any sound she might have made. Her fingers shook, but it wasn’t from the chill in the air.

It was fear. 

Never, in the time that she’d been living here, had the power ever gone out. Even the terrible storm that had passed just months earlier hadn’t been enough to knock out the electricity. 

It was ridiculous, being so terrified of the lights shutting off at night, but there was someone else here. She was certain of it now, could feel it in the marrow of her bones that she wasn’t alone and—

“Hermione Granger.”

She screamed this time, whirling around in the direction of the masculine voice with the butter knife pointed in its direction. 

There was a scraping sound, as if something prickly and grainy were being ground into the floor. Hermione followed the noise, moving slowly around as if she could in some way prevent an attack from behind. 

It was pointless. She knew that. 

She was too far from the door and the walls. She was out in the open and  _ vulnerable _ .

“You’ve been…quite naughty this year.”

She blinked, confusion warring with the fear springing up and down her spine. 

_ Naughty? _

_ Was this some kind of a joke? _

“Who are you?” Hermione demanded, relieved that she’d sounded brave in spite of the noxious fear churning in the pit of her stomach.

She held her ground, fingers tight on the knife in the event the intruder decided to attack. She didn’t know what good that would do if he came at her from behind, but she wouldn’t go down without at least taking one of his eyes with her. 

“Did someone put you up to this? Was it Malfoy?”

The odds of it being Draco Malfoy were slim to none, but she couldn’t think of anyone else that would have someone break into her house. He was slimy enough. He had the money to afford it, too. 

“No.”

It was only one word, but the humor in its voice couldn’t have been clearer. Hermione grit her teeth, widening her stance in anticipation of a fight. If he wasn’t hired help, then there could only be one explanation.

“Take whatever you want and go.” 

A thief was the only rational alternative. 

“Is that really what you want?” The intruder had the audacity to laugh this time. It was a soft, rumbly tenor that sounded more feline than human. Hermione took a step back when the laughter began to come closer to where she stood in the middle of the living room. 

“If that is what you  _ wish. _ ”

She didn’t hesitate. 

She turned and ran with the knife in hand to the front door. She had less than a minute to cross from couches to the door, and approximately three seconds to get the front door open and out into her front lawn. Her heart was ready to crawl out of her throat from the adrenaline, from the fear, but she ignored it. 

She had to make it  _ to _ the door. 

She had to  _ unlock _ the door.

She had to get  _ through  _ the door. 

Her neighbors kept to themselves, but they would know something was amiss if they saw her screaming bloody murder whilst running down the street. 

She skidded on the floor with her socks, dropping the knife in her haste to stop herself from slipping further, but she didn’t stop. She cut short of barreling into the lamp near the door before slamming into the front door and scrambling to unlock it. 

She couldn’t make out any sound, not with the blood flowing hard and fast in her ears. There was no room to focus on anything else, on anyone else.

_ Move. _

She unlatched the deadbolt from the door, nearly tearing off her fingernails as she yanked at the metal before setting her sights on the door lock and making quick work of that too. 

She could make it. 

She  _ had  _ to make it.

The relief in her chest was palpable. She was giddy with it even while at the same she was terrified out of her bloody mind, her heart hanging off the precipice of a massive coronary. 

She cracked the door open and—

The door slammed shut before she could widen the gap enough to squeeze through. She beat against it, laced her fingers around the knob to pull it open, but it refused to. It was like there was a force sealing the door shut.

She was trapped. 

Hermione’s stomach dropped, the giddiness eclipsed by the massive wave of hysteria shooting through her spine. 

She was  _ trapped. _

She beat against the door, kicked and punched it, but the door wouldn’t yield. Her hands were throbbing from bashing her palms into her, but she couldn’t give up now. This couldn’t be how it ended.

_ It couldn’t. _

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

The voice was at her neck, his breath as cold as ice as it wafted against her ear. She recoiled as if burned, whirling around with her hands up to punch some distance between them, but there were hands crushing into her wrists and slamming them back into the door. 

There was no time.

Her head bashed into the door, and her vision went white with pain. It was as if the world was a race car careening out of control, twisting and spinning until it inevitably crashed into a stone wall. Nausea oozed up her throat, threatening to spill the crackers and brie she’d snacked on just hours before. 

“I certainly did, watching you run and fight as if you ever had a chance of escape.”

Hermione blinked, tried to focus on the figure in front of her but the darkness was eating at the corners of her vision. It was as if the shadows were one with him.

A second skin.

“Bastard,” Hermione spat before crying out when the hands restraining her became bruising, just short of snapping the bones in her wrists like a twig. Something sharp dug into the skin, like  _ claws _ and—

_ Fuck. _

She howled in agony. The pain was unbearable as blinding as the hit to the head had been. 

“Such foul language…”

The Christmas lights flickered back on at the same time her vision cleared enough to focus on her assailant, and Hermione’s breath stopped. 

_ What?  _

She froze, uncomprehending.

There was a monster gazing back at her. A thing that couldn’t possibly be real, be  _ here _ , but was. 

It was a strange combination of half human, half goat. The human parts of him— _ it _ , she amended as she tried not to burst into laughter with her panic—could have passed for angelic. Its face was the most human part about it, and yet, that wasn’t quite right either.

There were no imperfections: it was all soft edges and smooth skin. Even the hair at the top of its head was immaculate and well-groomed. Without a single hair out of place. It reminded her of the groomed men she’d often see walking through the wealthier neighborhoods. 

It was bizarre, wrong somehow. No human man could be this beautiful. 

Hermione’s stomach roiled, and her chest ached with a feeling that she couldn’t begin to describe. 

It was like fear, but no, it was more than that.

_ Terror. _

It blinked, and she let out a sound she never thought herself capable of making. It was a high-pitching keening noise, a cross between a scream and gasp. 

Its eyes were red and slit like a goat’s. The windows to its soul—if the monster even had one at all—were rotted. 

_ Evil. _

There was nothing to be said about the rest of it. Whatever resemblance the monster bore to a person was solely reserved to the shape of the hands pinning her to the door and its face. 

_ Half-human, half-goat. Hooves. Fur. Claws.  _

“Whatever shall we do about that?” There was a knowing tone to its voice, like it knew something that she didn’t. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from making another panicked sound. 

How was this possible? 

From its voice alone, one couldn’t tell it was a monster. There was no sign from its speech alone that she was dealing with something more than a burglar or hired gun.

It was a human sound, and—

She laughed, knowing that she probably sounded crazy, but she couldn’t help it. 

“At a loss for words, I see.” 

Hermione laughed harder, tears springing from the corners of her eyes. The sound was painful to her own ears, like something not quite a laugh or a sob, but a mixture of the two noises. 

She didn’t know how long it took her to stop laughing, but when she did, her throat was burning. Everything was burning. Her face was hot and her cheeks wet. She must have shed a few tears while she tried not to go bloody mad at being confronted with a  _ thing  _ that shouldn’t even be, let alone be able to  _ speak. _

“W-what are you?” She winced when its claws dug deeper into her wrists, and the monster brought its face close enough to drink in her harsh breaths. 

The monster didn’t speak for some time, choosing instead to watch her with an unidentifiable glimmer in its eyes. She squirmed beneath the scrutiny, wincing each time its claws stabbed into her wrists.

Then its lips split into a wide grin, flashing a row of sharp teeth that did not belong on the angelic face gazing back at her. 

“My, I’m so  _ very _ disappointed in you, Hermione _. _ ”

Her skin crawled at the familiar way it used her name, at the way it rolled the “r” and its lips pursed over the “m.” 

“You’re a bright girl, I’m sure you can figure it out. Though—“

Hermione struggled harder against its grip when its face slipped closer still, and its mouth brushed against hers. It didn’t move to deepen the contact, but the chill of its breath still made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and her stomach roil with disgust.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you can’t. You’ve fallen from grace,  _ misbehaved, _ this year.”

Hermione didn’t understand. If she hadn’t been both bloody terrified and confused, she’d have been insulted by the slight to her intelligence. 

She didn’t  _ get  _ it.

None of this made sense. The horns, the claws, and the goat-like features: none of it belonged together. There was no monster, no creature, that she knew of from any of her lessons that described this sort of  _ thing _ .

Hell, not even the occasional fictional story she indulged in from time to time had ever described something such as this. 

It couldn’t exist, but somehow, it did. It was standing right in front of her,  _ touching her _ , and it was oozing malicious intent. It intended to hurt her, that much was clear. It had shown no reservations when bashing her head into the door or crushing her wrists and burying its claws into her flesh. 

The fact that it had chosen to toy with her psychology by letting her believe that she even had a chance of escape was more than enough for her to be certain that whatever its intentions, be it her death or whatever it was, she would suffer just for the sake of its enjoyment. 

It was callous, demonic—

_ Demonic. _

_ Demonic _ . 

Realization hit her in an instant. 

_ Of course. _

The horns and goat-like features. The time of year. Its ability to wield unexplained powers that could seal a door shut when she had thrown her full weight against it. Its obsession with  _ misbehavior. _

“Y-you’re Krampus.”

The creature paused before tilting its head to one side to consider her response. Its expression had gone from gleeful to pensive in the span of a second, and Hermione didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified of this development.

With malice, she could at least predict what it intended to do. Consideration was an entirely different animal. 

“How delightful, though I  _ do  _ go by the name Lord Voldemort these days.”

Voldemort’s lips curled, and it was all the warning she had before the creature shoved her back into the door, boxing her in. Its hands squeezed her harder than before, and this time, Hermione didn’t doubt that it had drawn blood when something warm and wet began to roll down from her wrists to her elbows as she screamed in agony.

She smacked her head into the door over and over again, whimpering and screaming as she tried to squirm away, but the monster didn’t let her go. There was no reprieve. It was all pain, only pain, as its mouth edged away from hers to skim along the side of her bare throat. 

_ Stop. _

It sniffed her, and she wailed when something sharp stabbed into her throat. It was all she could focus on. The burning in her wrists couldn’t compare to the knives digging into her throat, to the wet gurgling sounds coming from the side of her neck each time she writhed and tried to wrench herself away.

_ Please stop.  _

Another pang, and Hermione’s eyes rolled to the back of her eyes from the agony. Wetness dripped down the side of her neck and shoulder, and—

She sobbed and screamed, her mouth wide and wet with saliva as she jerked against the claws pinning her down to escape. It was unbearable. She was going to go mad, insane. 

She couldn’t do this. 

_ No more. _

The monster pushed away from her with a loud gasp, and it took everything she possessed not to pass out at the state of its face.

It was bathed in blood. There were splatters on its cheeks and chin. Its lips and mouth were dripping with blood. She hadn’t been certain before, hadn’t the wherewithal to place just what was tearing into her neck, but now she knew. 

It was his teeth. Voldemort had been bloody  _ tearing  _ into her neck with its fucking teeth.

Her knees buckled with vertigo, but she didn’t drop. Couldn’t. Voldemort refused to let her go, even when she was nothing more than dead weight. Her muscles were shaking with exhaustion and blood loss.

The creature then began to chew.

_ Oh god. _

That was—

Hermione gagged, bile burning up her esophagus when the creature made an audible swallowing sound. She didn’t have to look down to her neck to know that there would be a chunk of flesh missing.

“Impressive,” the creature said, and Hermione shook as it gazed at her with a look she hadn’t seen on its face before. 

It wasn’t malicious nor calculating. 

It was something worse. 

_ Interest. _

Hermione screwed her eyes shut at the same time its grip on one of her wrists dropped away, and it brought its fingers to brush against her cheek. 

“I usually prefer children. Their flesh is clean and supple. It comes away from bone with little effort at all.”

Hermione didn’t flinch as the monster crushed her further into the door, its chest to hers, its furry legs brushing against her bare thighs and calves. There was no energy left to fight. She was still bleeding, and it was only a matter of time before she bled out.

“But you—“ the creature spoke on as if she wasn’t about to pass out at any moment, as if she wasn’t about to welcome sweet nothingness with open arms to just make this shit end. “—you’re no child.”

The hand at her cheek dropped lower, past the pulsing pain at the side of her throat and over her heaving chest to stop at her navel. She swallowed, eyes flickering back up to Voldemort’s face with a renewed sense of horror.

_ No. _

“Your flesh wrent so easily beneath my teeth, and your blood—“

She screwed her eyes shut when its claws bit into the fabric of her pajama shorts and tugged. The material tore like paper, coming apart at the seams. She tried not to cry when its claws pushed between the gap in her thighs to trace the crotch of her knickers.

“Kill me. Just kill me!”

She tried to close them with whatever strength remained, even as her limbs failed her, but it didn’t matter. Voldemort forced its leg between hers and parted her without issue. 

_ Please.  _

_ No.  _

“No! Just finish me off!”

“Oh, we can’t have that now. It’d be such a shame to let you go to waste,” Voldemort purred as its nails curled over the waistband over her knickers and tugged, stretching the fabric out until it bit into her arse. 

“After all, they say the meat tastes so much better when it’s not afraid.”

The implication was enough to make what little blood remained in her veins go cold.

Hermione let out a single strangled noise before Voldemort released its grip on her knickers and grabbed her by the jaw. Its grip was punishing, but Hermione still tried to jerk her head away. 

_ No. _

“Sweet dreams,  _ Hermione _ .”

Its eyes locked on hers, red and inhuman, and then—

Voldemort smashed her head into the door, and everything went dark.


End file.
